I sat across the dining table with my mom. who unbeknownst to her children had decided not to have treatment a treatment that could have extended her life. She knew what was up. I snapped this photo. She was 92 at the time. Later I painted a small portrait of her in the corner of a spread of canvas that I intended to make a series of many small 12x12 images, much like a quilt. This was one of those paintings that just fell out of me. Once it got going, I wished she was not up in the corner, but... she was. First she was in a white robe with Angel wings in the sky, then in a tide pool like place but the rocks became skulls floating in a stormy sea. Is this her unspoken fear of the unknown, or the journey that awaited her or just impending death. Is it my fear about death and the journey awating her? I don't know. I do know she was tired.